


Nothing's Wrong

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: SPOILER WARNING for episode 14X08 'Byzantium!'





	Nothing's Wrong

“It’s nothing." Castiel gulps, forcing the answer past the lump rising in his throat. Seeing you, feeling the pressure of your fingertips touching his arm, gentle concern compelling him to tell you what’s wrong, what could possibly be _wrong_ when Jack’s soul is back in his body, safe and sound, and you finally have a lead on Michael’s location, it's overwhelming.

You possess a knack for recognizing pain dimming the clarity of his celestial blues, no matter his reassuring words to the contrary or the softness of a smile to hide it. He can’t lie to you; not that _this_ \- nothing - is a lie.

Shielding his eyes from your searching gaze, he turns away, fabric of his coat slipping from your caress, stubbornly heading into the hall toward your quarters. “Cas!” You hustle after him; firmer, more insistent, when you clasp his arm and maneuver your body between him and the intended path of your bedroom.

Lids heavy, he avoids your entreating expression.

Palms tenderly smoothing up his chest, pliant and invitingly familiar, you melt against the solid column of his vessel. Knuckles rise to graze the stubble of his cheek, hand flexing to cradle the uncharacteristically pallid skin. “Hey angel, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Reaching up, he covers your hand and closes his eyes. Leaning in, he leaves no room for any space between your flesh and his - the warmth, _your_ warmth, it’s the sunshine the Empty alluded to, threatened to drag him away from when he finally allows himself to succumb to that happiness you offer without reservations, without doubt.

“Cas?” Your lips tremble, weaving irrepressible worry into the single syllable utterance.

He inhales a shaky lungful of breath, stops fighting the tears brimming his lashes, and sighs again, “It’s _nothing_.”

“Okay,” you sniffle, conciliatory. Slipping your fingers into his hair, you hope he’ll talk when he’s ready. “It’s okay.”

He wags his chin slowly side to side, stoicism locking his jaw clenching to suppress a quivering sob because it’s _not_ okay. He doesn’t regret sacrificing for Jack, fulfilling a promise to save the boy; he does regret, profoundly, doing so meant a failure to fulfill his promise of forever to you. A few stray droplets of salt emerge from the clamped corners of his lids to gloss the melancholic hollows below his eyes.

“C’mere.” Snaking your arms around his neck, you fold him into a comforting embrace.

Yielding to your affection, he lets emotion loose to wetly stain your shirt. His heart holds back though from acquiescing, rigid within his ribcage - shackled by fear - where once it bounded unrestrained in your presence, at the mere thought of you. Numbness spreads with every beat now, emptying his veins, pulsing the possibility of happily ever after out into the void where a cosmic entity smugly waits, wide awake, basking in the seraph’s suffering.


End file.
